


Roses Growing in January

by Rhapsodist



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, La Belle et la Bête | Beauty and the Beast (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Based on Barbot de Villeneuve version, Canon minor character deaths, F/M, Gen, Mostly Canon Compliant, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other: See Story Notes, POV First Person, POV Minor Character, Worldbuilding inspired by 1740s France, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22495573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhapsodist/pseuds/Rhapsodist
Summary: According to the narrative, the merchant’s daughters may as well have been a single entity. We are treated as a collective consciousness with the same thoughts, feelings, motivations and personalities.I am the merchant’s eldest daughter and I would like to set the record straight.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: References to difficult pregnancy (including Nuchal cord and a Caesarean section)

> "[They] caused this marvellous history to be recorded in the archives of her kingdom … that it might be handed down to posterity. They also disseminated copies of it throughout the Universe, so that the world at large might never cease to talk of the wonderful adventures of Beauty and the Beast." (G.S. de Villeneuve’s _La Belle et la Bête_. Translation by J.R. Planché)

* * *

Préface

Sixteen years ago, a historical account was sent out. Most people know it as _La Belle et la Bête_ , probably as the full title ( _The Historical Record Regarding the Most Marvellous Adventures of_ etc.) is a bit much to recall off hand, a mouthful in conversation and gives away the entire plot. By now, everyone has read it. In case you need a reminder of said narrative, I will include a brief précis.

In the first instalment a widower merchant, who had recently fallen upon hard times, relocates to the country with all twelve of his children. Two years later, he gains word that one of his ships has returned and he hurries back to the city. After more ill-fortune, he has no choice but to return home in the dead of winter. On route, he gets lost in a blizzard and finds a seemingly empty castle wherein he spends the night.

The next morning, as he is leaving, he steals a rose from the castle’s garden which summons the owner. The owner is a terrifying Beast who demands one of the merchant’s daughters as a prisoner. Loving, dutiful, perfect Beauté takes his place and resides at the castle for several months. After a visit with her family, she returns to the castle and finds the Beast near death. She revives him and breaks the curse revealing that he was a Prince all along.

In the second instalment, we learn the Prince’s backstory and how he came to be in a monstrous form. In the third instalment, we learn Beauté’s backstory, including how she was not the merchant’s daughter at all but a changeling princess.

What frustrates me the most is, according to the narrative, the merchant’s daughters may as well have been a single entity. We are treated as a collective consciousness with the same thoughts, feelings, motivations and personalities. The same can be said for his sons’ and the eventual suitors’ portrayals as well.

I am the merchant’s eldest daughter and I would like to set the record straight.

According to the narrative, my sisters and I are proud and vain, materialistic and spoiled. It also claims that we are spiteful, jealous, vicious creatures and constant antagonists to the poor, put-upon Beauté. I will never claim that we were saints, cruelly misrepresented with our dispositions unfairly besmirched.

Were we proud?

Pride means many things. Did we have lofty airs? Yes, most of us did, but no more than any other woman of our advantaged social situation. We took pride in our accomplishments. We were labelled arrogant by jealous aristocrats who thought we should be deferential because we were just the nouveau riche. We were unwilling to tolerate the deceitful amorous advances of privileged men. Therefore, they called us self-important when we were self-respecting.

To be proud also means that you do not accept your faults and refuse to admit that you can better yourself.

And I will admit, at times, we did overestimate our superiority and look down upon others with contempt. We had no better examples to model our conduct after as our mother was deceased and we lacked other living female relatives. Though we knew a number of female acquaintances, they were just as proud and vain with less wealth or beauty to rely on.

Were we vain and materialistic?

Yes. We were proud of our good looks and put excessive time and effort into maintaining them. We also had an eye for pretty, often expensive, things. To move about in society, a lady is required to look and dress well. She dedicates time and money to her toilette only to be chastised for vanity and frivolity. She collects expensive things for her dowry and to wear and is called materialistic. However, a lady who is not blessed with loveliness or who does not bother to maintain her appearance is mocked and scorned.

Jewellery is shorthand, among the upper classes, for wealth. It denotes that the lady in question’s family has access to money. Either they are well-off or they are an old family that is financially solvent enough to not need to sell off the heirloom jewellery. It also acts as an emergency method of gaining currency in a time and place that disallows women from financial independence.

Why is it necessary for a lady to move about society and have a dowry?

It is the only way for her to gain a ranked husband. The simple fact is that, in my society, women have very few options in life. Marriage is one of the few ways a woman can support herself. But this achievement can come with strife and women have little to no recourse for a dreadful spouse. In short, our culture makes marriage the only available goal for women then mocks our preoccupation with it.

Were we jealous?

Technically, no. We were _envious_ as we wanted what she already had: a share of our father’s affection and the constancy of our paramours. Jealousy is the fear of possibly being replaced in the affections of someone you love. When it claims that we were jealous we had already been replaced in the affections of our suitors. And we realized young that Beauté was the favourite. Our father gave half of his love to his sons and the other half to his daughters. Except, of the half we received, Beauté obtained most of it, leaving the five of us to struggle over the remaining crumbs.

Clearly we could not have been as wicked as we were portrayed. If we were, Beauté would look like a fool for appointing us offices in the Royal Court and granting us high stations. Nepotism is already questionable. Putting known malefactors in positions of power over a kingdom’s worth of inhabitants is folly verging on malice.

Let me introduce my siblings to you and you may make your own judgement.

I am going to start with myself for two reasons: I am the first-born and individuals’ personalities tend to be, at least partly, affected by the personalities of their siblings. As the eldest child, I was expected to shoulder more responsibilities at a younger age. I know I am a flawed person. I do not do well with change, I am critical and I can be domineering.

For privacy’s sake, I will be giving my siblings pseudonyms.

I was my parent’s only child for all of fourteen months before gaining not one, but two younger sisters. Despite the usual syntactic structure being flora-and-fauna, the birth order was reversed therefore we shall be referring to them as Faune and Flore. They are identical twins and have spent their entire lives trying to be thought of as two individuals and not a matched set.

Faune was a hale and hearty infant with a good birth weight and a strong set of lungs. This did not change as she aged. As a child, individuals made little jests about her being my parent’s “firstborn son”. She was boisterous and always on the move, though she has mellowed as she matured. Even now, she is my opposite. While I am cool and controlled, she is warm and whole-hearted. Never much of a dancer or a musician, she is a skilled equestrian and rather athletic. She can also be a bit of a hothead. The first man who tried to take liberties with her ended up being fished out of a fountain. There was not a second.

Flore, on the other hand, was none of these things. She was the moon to Faune’s sun. At birth, she had been smaller, quieter and a bit sickly. My parents were not even aware that my mother had been carrying twins until the midwife told her to keep pushing. As a child, she was agreeable but also painfully bashful, preferring the company of books and botanicals. She never did grow out of her shyness and, during our society years, this gave her a reputation for haughtiness that, of all of us, she really did not deserve. She has quite the green thumb and is able to cultivate plants that have no business growing in our climate.

After the twins was Mélodie. Poor girl was born between two sets of twins. She was very young when we realized that she has an artistic temperament, a high-strung disposition and a longing for attention. Setting her before the family harpsichord and teaching her to play, as well as to sing, seemed to help all three traits. She is not just a proficient musician but a virtuoso. After the harpsichord, she learned a number of different instruments including the harp, the flute, the violin and the newly popular fortepiano.

Mignonne was, for nearly four-and-a-half years, the youngest daughter of five. This was both a blessing and a curse. She was always the affectionate and social one: charming, outgoing and an incorrigible flirt. She was also used to getting her way and can be a bit manipulative. As Mélodie was always playing some instrument, she and her twin became expert dancers. Until Beauté reached sixteen, Mignonne always had the most admirers of us all.

As for my brothers, they spend the entire narrative as paragons who can do no wrong. They appear to worship the ground Beauté walked upon; therefore their impulsive actions can be forgiven as they were attempted out of their unrelenting love for her.

My eldest-born brother, Jour, has more in common with me than his twin sister. As he is the first son and therefore the heir, he was expected to inherit our father’s enterprise. Our father was the strictest with him, even stricter than he was with me. Jour, always the dutiful son, became an over-achiever and a people-pleaser in an attempt to measure up to our father’s expectations. He is also easily swayed by a pretty face.

Noir was the spare to Jour’s heir. If anything had happened to his elder brother, he would have been expected to inherit our father’s enterprise. My father treated him similarly except Noir chafed under these expectations. In his youth, he was the prodigal son to Jour’s dutiful son: rebellious, prone to vices and a tendency to associate with libertines. However, he also associated with intellectuals and other forward-thinkers and was well-known for frequenting coffeehouses and salons. He is impulsive but has, fortunately, learned to restrain that trait.

If it is dreadful to be the spare, then the spare’s spare has it even worse. Agneau was an easy child to bring up; he never kicked up a fuss. However, as the eighth child and born between the contrary son and the triplets, he tended to be overlooked by our parents and our governess. He became my shadow from when he could walk until he left for his education.

As he mostly fended for himself, this led him to be more independent and more reliable than several of his siblings. But, he is also easily led as he, naïvely, believes the best of people. For a time we were certain he would join a religious order. Of us all, he felt the loss of our library the most profoundly.

It was a miracle that the triplets were born alive. The physician had no choice but to cut open my mother to deliver them. Feu is the fraternal triplet and the only one born without complications. However, like all multiple births, all three were born smaller and sooner than the rest of their siblings.

Terreau and Zéphir are identical and they shared a placenta. Zéphir, like many multiples in that situation, was significantly smaller than both of his brothers. On the other hand, Terreau was especially misfortunate; he was not breathing when he was born. While he was growing, his navel cord managed to wrap, very loosely, around his neck. When it was time for him to be born, it tightened like a noose and strangled him, nearly to death.

The triplets did not mind being considered a matched set. In fact, they tended to use it to their advantage.

Feu was born first. He has a force of personality which led him to being the leader of the three. Unfortunately, he has both Faune’s hotheadedness and Noir’s impulsivity, which is a volatile combination. He has managed to tame both as he matured. He took up fencing. One may think that giving a weapon to someone rash would be a recipe for disaster. However, the blade is blunted, deliberate brutality is penalized, and hotheadedness or impulsivity is a sure way to lose a bout.

Terreau was born second. He was always sweet-natured but easily led. Never an intellectual, he always lagged in his education. Of all of us, he is the most easily satisfied. Beyond comfortable necessities, give him good food, good wine, good company and good entertainment and he is perfectly content. He also is good with his hands and has an aptitude for repair which very much aided us during our _sojourn_ in the country.

Zéphir was born third. He is clever and level-headed as well as soft-spoken. As such, his more boisterous brothers ignore his typically sensible advice. A gentle and artistic soul, he is happiest in a museum or behind an easel. He prefers still-lifes and landscapes and rarely does portraiture as he, under his own admission, is far better at portraying animals and nature than people. An acquaintance once offered to pose _déshabillé_ 1 for him. He declined the offer and walked around with a spectacular blush for three days afterwards.

When it was the three of them together, Feu would get an idea, or be provoked, while Zéphir tried to talk him out of it and failed. Terreau would go along with whatever Feu’s idea was. When the other two got in over their heads, Zéphir would leap into the fray in an attempt to even the odds.

Finally, my mother bore my youngest sister, Gisèle. I am not bothering to use an alias for her. We do not know who she would have grown up to be as she perished very young. She had her own personality, certainly, but a toddler’s disposition is usually not identical to their mature, adult temperament. Sometimes I wonder what she would have been like and how everything would have been different had she survived.

I will introduce the suitors later in the narrative. Therefore, I humbly submit this record for your perusal and judgement. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 déshabillé: undressed (having partially or completely removed one's clothes)
> 
> Constructive criticism welcome.  
> Translations (especially into French), podfics, inspired fics and fanworks are welcome.  
> Will add additional tags if requested.  
> If anyone is interested in reading the version I am drawing from: ["Four and Twenty Fairy Tales"](https://books.google.ca/books?id=f7ABAAAAQAAJ&printsec=titlepage&redir_esc=y#v=onepage&q&f=false) (starts page 225).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Minor Character Death

The worst day of my life was when father brought home a squalling infant and the news that my mother had perished while birthing her.

I was nearly eight.

Childbirth is a dangerous thing. I often wonder: would my mother have survived if she had not been compelled to bear a dozen children in eight years? Would she have survived if she had longer to recuperate after the triplets’ difficult gestation?

The year after I was born, my mother bore Faune and Flore, and then Mélodie the year after that. People would have begun to gossip disguising it as false sympathy. “That poor man,” They would say, “so many daughters and not even a son”. I cannot recall it, but I have overheard it before regarding families in a similar situation.

Barely a year after the fourth, my father finally had his son, Jour. Within the hour, Mignonne, his twin sister, was born. Noir was born the next year. As my father now had his heir and a spare, my parents could have slowed in procreating. They did not. Agneau was born a year later, then Feu, Terreau and Zéphir a year after that.

Within a few months my mother was expecting again.

As always, she had spent the last month or so at our country estate which was more than a hundred leagues from our hometown. My parents believed that the fresh country air and pastoral setting always improved her health. My father accompanied her along with a nurse. My siblings and I remained in the townhouse with our governess.

I remember the night my youngest sister was born. Though it was mid-winter, it had been mild until that night. There was a frightful blizzard. It was nearly as treacherous as the one my father became lost in sixteen years later. From what I have been able to piece together, there were complications. The physician was sent for but, between the remoteness of the estate and the fierceness of the storm, he did not arrive in time. The midwife and nurse did all they could but it was in vain.

Upon his arrival a few days later, my father handed off my youngest sister, Gisèle, to our governess and disappeared into his chambers for three months. The only appearance he made during that time was at my mother’s funeral. Her portrait was taken down and stored. It was six months after my mother’s passing before he interacted with any of his children.

My father and I have a complicated relationship. He is not the saint that the narrative claims. Do not misunderstand; he is not a wicked man or prone to vice or violence. And he treated my mother like a queen. However, he had a number of flaws including: emotionally and physically withdrawing when faced with adversity and engaging in favouritism amongst his children. Furthermore, he will stubbornly follow through on a decision he has made even when it becomes calamitous.

Most of my siblings were too young to comprehend the finality and perpetuity of death. More than one asked our governess when Maman was coming home. They did not understand that our mother coming back was as likely as roses growing in January. I am fairly certain that was when I stopped believing in magic.

I spent the next several years of my life attempting to emulate her.

As I was raised by my governess from birth, I have few memories of my mother. Therefore, I trusted the recollections of my father and their acquaintances. According to them, my mother was _perfect_ : accomplished, beautiful, witty, an impeccable hostess and the ideal wife. Of course, no one would dare speak ill of the dead.

I often failed to live up to this _beau idéal_ 2. Consequently, I blamed myself because, clearly, my failure must be because I was flawed. Eventually, I realized that it was an impossible standard to live up to. I had made my debut at sixteen and ended up in a standing rivalry with another young lady. After a particularly fierce quarrel, over something frivolous, her mother told me that I had the same sharp tongue as my mother. The flawless lady never existed; it was merely an idealistic illusion. She was just as human as the rest of us, with all that that entails.

As a merchant, my father was gone from home for long interludes. Left in the care of our governess and the servants, we saw him so seldom that he was practically a stranger. Though often away, he always returned with gifts for us. I guess he overindulged us to compensate for his frequent absences.

I will admit I had terrible thoughts about the new-born. Nearly all of my siblings survived to adulthood. We are an anomaly. In most families, half of the children will perish before five. I laid the blame for my mother’s death on a higher power. To my shame, I begged Anyone who would listen, that they should have taken my sister instead.

Evidently, Someone was listening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2beau idéal: an imaginary standard of perfection


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Minor Character Death (child) from an illness, references to separation anxiety, references to adultery, reference to adult men making questionable (but non-sexual) comments concerning a teenage girl, reference to men attempting (and failing) to take advantage of a teenage girl, reference to an ongoing war

The second worse day of my life was when Gisèle, deathly ill, was relocated to the countryside.

I was ten-and-a-half.

It had started as a trifling illness. All my siblings were laid up with it, myself included, before most of us recovered from it. Only my youngest sister, who was not yet three, did not improve. The malady took hold and she continued to deteriorate. None of the attempted remedies worked.

In desperation, my father decided to send her away with her wet-nurse. They would stay at the home belonging to the widow of one of my father’s consociates, who lived with her elderly mother. It was just on the edge of the village, near where our country estate was, so that the physician would be nearby. He had hoped that the change in air would help. Before she left, my sister was given last rites just in case the worst happened.

The first taste of autumn was in the air when they departed. Through the front window, I had watched them leave. I can clearly recall that I suffered the most morbid thought: this would be the last time I ever saw my baby sister. I took no joy in that notion. Unfortunately, as it turns out, my belief was accurate, though I would not know for almost fifteen years.

Weeks passed.

Finally, the nurse returned with high spirits and a healthy toddler. She was accompanied by the two peasant women she had been staying with. They had claimed that the child’s fever had broken in the wee hours of that morning. She was in perfect health, which was odd now that I look back on it. While my siblings and I recuperated, we spent at least a week convalescing after our fevers broke. We were too tired to do much more than sleep.

My father had been so overjoyed that his dearest child was once again well. I do not think he ever dwelled on her miraculous recovery.

The three women had also been shadowed by a fortune-teller. She gave my father a prediction solely regarding the youngest. For some reason, I can remember it perfectly: “She will be a great honour to thy family; she will bring thee immense wealth, and save thy life and that of all thy children. She will be so beautiful - so beautiful, that she will be called Beauty by all who behold her.” My father listened raptly and paid her a gold coin.

I saw my sister far more than he ever did. This child did not share her appearance and I seemed to be they only one who noticed. After the fortune-teller had withdrawn, I speculated that the girl was a changeling. I was shushed for being a fanciful child or chastised for saying such a terrible thing.

As it turned out, I was correct.

I mean, this was a toddler that was exchanged, not an infant. Nearly three meant she could speak in simple sentences and had an established personality. Gisèle’s personality differed greatly from Beauté’s. Gisèle was a little spitfire; outgoing, tenacious and she loved being the centre of attention. She knew what she did and did not like and she made sure everyone else knew too.

Beauté, after the first few months, was quieter, shyer and more compliant.

If she had been Gisèle, leaving the village meant returning to her home and family. This child reacted as if we were strangers and our house was an unfamiliar place. Gisèle had a strong attachment to certain playthings while the new girl had little affection towards the same toys.

Our governess was the first she warmed up to but this meant Beauté was constantly clinging to her. For the first few months, she was frequently anxious about being lost, left behind or forgotten. She feared leaving our home and had tantrums when separated from our governess. Putting her to bed was an ordeal. She hated sleeping alone and often woke through the night because of nightmares.

Occasionally, in my youth and usually in the dead of night when I was alone with my thoughts, I wondered if my sister had perished. If so, then it was likely that the women had found, or stolen, a healthy child to take her place. Of course I mentioned this but the adults were frustratingly obtuse. They disregarded my concerns. If you are told something often enough, you begin to believe it even if it contradicts your own memories. Eventually, I pushed it to the back of my mind until I forgot those discrepancies.

However, as she aged, I was not the only one that noticed irregularities in her inherited features.

My father never did remarry. I had to step up to be the head of the household far too young. Did I spend frivolously and not save our money properly? Yes, I will admit that. In my defence, I was _twelve_.

A woman is expected to have a solid comprehension of basic arithmetic in order to keep the household accounts and balance its budget. I was still learning basic arithmetic when I became responsible for our accounting. I did not realize until later that my father’s consistent profits were only because of good fortune. The family accounts were never a secret; he could have looked into them at any time and limited our spending.

My father considered himself to be an enlightened intellectual. Therefore, he insisted that all of us gain a thorough education. Our governess taught us the basics. We then studied under a number of instructors and tutors. After their tenth birthdays, my brothers were enrolled at an eight-year college for a classical education. After their twelfth birthdays, most of my sisters were enrolled at a convent-school for finishing.

As my father was often away, I had been deemed ‘too essential’ for the running of his estates to leave. As such, I remained at our townhouse under the tutelage of a chaperone as well as instructors and tutors. The servants answered to the head-servants and, as the replacement lady of the house, the head-servants answered to me.

As a lady, I was taught just enough regarding certain subjects to converse intelligently about them. I was expected to be learned enough to be an asset to my future husband but not to the point that I would be an intellectual threat to him. Among my lessons included the seven liberal arts, history, politics and philosophy.

The previous king had died when I was only two-years-old. My lessons taught me that he had managed to produce one issue: a son born shortly after his death. Within a few months of the son’s birth, a neighbouring kingdom had attacked ours. Much of my father’s immense wealth had come from running navel blockades to bring goods to our homeland. We were still at war with them, but our hometown was safe. A number of factors and luck meant that we had never been overrun by the opposing army.

As I grew older, my father was away less and less often. I played hostess for my father’s friends and associates. These men made quips about how I would make such a good little wife. Some of them bantered about how they might marry me themselves. My father laughed along and jokingly offered my hand when I was a bit older. At the time I felt so mature.

It never occurred to me that this was odd; my father had been nine years senior to my mother after all. Looking back, I now realize that these middle-aged men should never have been making those sorts of comments regarding an adolescent girl. They were my seniors by years, and even decades, and I was barely more than a child. Fortunately, it never went beyond remarks.

I am now about the same age as those men had been. When I look upon adolescents, as old as I had been at the time, I see actual children. They look far too young for me to understand why _any_ adult would look upon one as a potential spouse. Alas, the unscrupulous find the unworldliness appealing as youths will forgive behaviour that mature adults will never tolerate.

Another advantage came from the new-found sensibleness of my nascent adulthood. My father began to listen to my counsel regarding certain subjects. He often concurred with my advice as well. I also acted as a parental-figure for my younger siblings. For obvious reasons, this was not always effective.

When the youngest was eight, I had overheard some of the chambermaids gossiping. All but Beauté and the triplets had been away at school and my father had been absent as well. The maids speculated if he would ever notice that the youngest child bore none of his features. It was conceived that my mother had taken a lover. The maids seemed to find the suggestion that my father was a cuckold to be absolutely hilarious.

I was fifteen and devastated.

Of course I believed it. Beauté looks very little like the rest of my siblings or I. The notion of her being a changeling was treated as ridiculous. I was old enough to recall my mother expecting her. Therefore, according to deductive reasoning, Beauté being fathered by another was the most plausible scenario. Since my parents were married at the time of conception, it would be considered adultery and she would be considered illegitimate.

The rest of the day I spent holed up in our library, avoiding everyone especially the youngest. Neither I nor the maids could recall my mother well enough to realize that the youngest displayed little resemblance to her either. To be honest, our relationship was never the same afterwards.

At first, I told none of my siblings what I overheard. Sometime later and desperate for a confidante, I told Faune and Flore. They took it poorly as well but I swore them to secrecy. Given my other sisters’ behaviour regarding Beauté, I am not sure they entirely did.

However, I am confident that my brothers never found out. For them, she was the favourite sister. The rest of us were targets of their pranks and jokes, but she never was. The servants also favoured and pampered her. She was impossible to hate or even feel apathetic about.

My father never found out either. He never thought that his beloved late wife had been unfaithful. He certainly never considered the idea that his most favourite child was the product of her infidelity. I assure you, if he had it would have killed him.

The oddest thing happened, repeatedly, when Beauté was out in public. She was always escorted when she left the house. As the eldest and the only one to remain at home, this usually fell to me. Perfect strangers, usually women, would approach us. After the usual polite platitudes were exchanged, these women would inquire solely after the health and behaviour of the youngest. Whoever else was present would be summarily ignored until we made excuses to leave.

As I later found out, these strangers (and the initial fortune-teller) were Beauté’s aunt in disguise.

It was fortunate that she was so sweet-natured. As she was the favourite child, my father spoilt her. I mean, we were all spoiled, but she cossetted more than the rest of us. This included her education; my father kept delaying sending her away for finishing. She remained at home until I insisted to him that coddling her would adversely affect her tutelage.

Not that it was ignored as she studied under the same instructors as I. She was studious and everything seemed to come easily to her. Beauté was thirteen when she was finally enrolled at the convent-school. All of my brothers were still away at the college at the time.

The rest of my sisters, however, had already returned home. Gradually, they reached sixteen years of age and had been introduced to society. Almost immediately after, they began receiving attention from numerous admirers. I will admit, after the strictness of the convent-school, they did run a little wild with their new-found freedoms.

Do not judge them too harshly; my brothers also ran wild while they were still students, as young men are wont to do.

This is about the time our governess was dismissed and replaced with our chaperone. For the second time in my life, I lost a mother-figure.

My sisters’ convent education also left them a little gauche. They were too willing to believe the attractive lies from attractive men. I had a few close calls myself when I was first introduced. Gentlemen, who never lived up to their title, saw “the merchant’s daughter” as an appetizing target: a girl with no titled relations, only a middle-aged father to fight for her honour and a substantial dowry. They attempted, in various ways, to induce me into compromising positions or take certain liberties.

Unfortunately for them, I was never a trusting soul. All I will say on the matter is that these men tended to find themselves in less than ideal circumstances and the wise ones realized that it would behove them to leave me be. When Faune and Flore were introduced, especially after the incident with the fountain, not one was still foolish enough to attempt anything.

Therefore, I persuaded my father that it would be best to not marry my sisters off so young, though there were many offers. They needed more time and experience before they were ready to become society ladies. There were lessons in music and dance as well as deportment, elocution, etiquette and a number of other things. Upon completion of these studies, we became not just notable but accomplished women: well-read, passably multi-lingual and musical.

A few more years passed.

Every one of us elder daughters had matured into visions. We were the belles of every ball we graced with our presence. We _had_ to be present and could not reject invitations without just cause. If polite society thought we were purposely snubbing a hostess, it would have created gossip and discord. And if the hostess has thought we were purposely snubbing her, she and her associates could have hurt our social standing.

This would have limited our social interactions and which gentlemen we could encounter. Parties are one of the few socially acceptable ways for the sexes to mingle. Not only balls, there were also trips to the theatre, the opera and ballets as well as hunting parties and all sorts of other amusements.

Our position was fragile amongst the upper classes. Though prosperous, our father was still a merchant. The aristocracy looked down their noses at us even while the insolvent ones introduced their sons to us. We were less than enthused with those suitors as they only saw us as milch-cows3.

With our looks and substantial dowries, we could afford to court the finest of gentlemen. As the eldest it was only proper for me to marry first. At the time, I had a supposedly steadfast suitor who proposed. He was of a similar age with good breeding and an ample yearly salary. It would have been an advantageous marriage. With that step into his society, I could negotiate marriages for my sisters well above our station.

I had just turned twenty-one.

For some reason, I was hesitant. No one was too concerned about my age or uncertainty. My mother had been a year older when she wed. My soon-to-be mother-in-law assured me that many women have reservations regarding their nuptials. She presumed that it was maiden modesty that was causing my matrimonial misgivings.

I should have listened to my intuition.

Instead, I accepted the engagement. The wedding was planned for the coming spring, only weeks away. My school-bound siblings were visiting to celebrate my upcoming wedding ceremony.

Despite being uninvited, misfortune also decided to pay us a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 milch-cow: cash cow (someone or something which is a dependable source of appreciable amounts of money; a moneymaker). Milch: [early modern English] milk.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Minor Character Death, House Fire (with no fatalities), loss of sentimental items, reference to horses in a stressful but ultimately undamaging situation, reference to (temporary) sale of a beloved pet, references to attempted (and refused) extortion / sexual coercion, reference to consensual sex, reference to men taking advantage of ingénues, reference to sexual harassment and sexual assault
> 
> Long chapter

The fourth worse day of my life was when Fate stole _everything_.

The first harbinger was when my father received word that one of his ships had been lost in at sea. Though we experienced misfortune rarely, it was not shocking to lose the occasional ship. After all, oceanic journeys are known to be perilous. Then a second ship was taken by pirates. A third had sunk in a sudden tempest. More than one was caught by the naval blockade. All in all, he ended up losing every ship he owned.

The ill-luck kept coming. As it turned out, none of my father’s agents or correspondents could be trusted. Money ‘disappeared’ from his coffers. They had racked up numerous debts in his name. He had to settle those or lose his reputation for trustworthiness.

My father was wealthy, yes, but most of his wealth was not hard currency. His wealth was in lands, property and shares. The impatient expected him to pay them in coin, immediately. He would not dip into the family accounts as his primary consideration was to keep us fed and avoid collectors for household tabs and taxes. The only other option was to recompense them from our dowries. Mine was not touched. I would soon be married and that would have caused all sorts of issues with the existent engagement contract. It was not quite enough but jewellery always fetches a fine price and sells quickly.

It would have been only a matter of time for us to regain our wealth and prestige. My future in-laws had engaged professionally with my father before. They would, of course, help us. Or at least we thought.

Moreover we did still have our house. It was picturesque and palatial and took up a third of a city block. Within those walls and upon the grounds, we had entertained nobility. The rest of the block was taken up by my father’s warehouses, the servants’ quarters, the stables, a few other outbuildings and a scenic private park. A loan, with the property as collateral, had been proposed.

Unfortunately, disaster struck again.

I do not know how the fire started. It had been an unusually dry spring; I suspect that is how it managed to become the inferno that it so swiftly did. Afterwards, the servants had sworn up and down that every hearth and flame had been properly extinguished the evening before. As it had been a mild spring night, we only required a few blankets for warmth. The chimneys had been recently cleaned. There were no candles lit as no one had arisen between our retiring to bed and our unpleasant awakening.

All my siblings had been beneath my father’s roof at the time. It was Beauté who alerted us. Awoken because of a nightmare, she sensed something was wrong. She quickly roused us after finding the corridor outside our chambers filling with smoke. As our doors were closed at the time, very little of it had crept into our chambers.

Miraculously, we all escaped the encroaching flames. However, though we survived, we were not unscathed. We inadvertently inhaled smoke while evacuating the structure and this left us, for a time, moderately ill. We barely had time to grab anything, maybe two or three close-at-hand items of sentimental value. The portrait we had of our mother was reduced to cinders leaving only the small portrait-miniature of her in our father’s possession.

As the house was consumed, the fire spread to the warehouses and destroyed the last of the commodities within. The other buildings, including the stables, were spared as the fire failed to cross the park. The horses were spooked but they survived. Afterwards, in only our nightclothes, we helplessly watched the only home we had known burn to the ground.

Searching through the rubble, we only found a limited quantity of metal items. Most of those were sturdy and useful but had no real value, such as fire grates and kitchen cookware. Everything else inside had been consumed. This included my dowry and the gown for my wedding which was just a week away.

One would think, with the high melting point of gold, silver and gems, that some valuables would have survived. I never had anything more than suspicions but I fear that the servants, seeing as they would be soon out of a job, had filled their pockets. And if not them, then our neighbours had taken advantage of our ruin. The very few valuable items to survive were those too large to easily pocket.

The fire left us destitute.

After moving into the still-standing servants’ quarters, we turned to our friends and those we had helped in the past. Those fair-weather friends, associates and acquaintances cut us. They blamed us for our sudden tribulations. Some asked around as they were quite willing to care for Beauté. Upper society engages in little contracts to gain wealth, power and alliances. Arranging advantageous marriages is one way they play out.

My parents had a love-match and my father never arranged marriages for his children. That is not to say that we were not _coaxed_. My father allowed our chaperone to send away any admirers that she deemed unacceptable for a myriad of reasons. If our romance was too passionate, we were encouraged to wed soon lest our characters be sullied. If we were courted by a suitor for too long, we were urged to persuade him to propose, end the relationship if he refused to or to accept his offered proposal. In fact, this is why I was engaged to my fiancé; our courtship had gone on for several months and my father and his parents had become impatient.

Beauté was young, obedient, sweet-natured and unattached. My sisters and I were not. Therefore, of course, she would make the perfect pawn for those seeking affluence. It was an enticing prospect and even I am not guiltless in this regard. However, it still disgusts me that they would leave the rest of us on the street to perish.

Our suitors were no better. My fiancé turned out to be as consistent as roses growing in January. He still agreed to marry me and even support my family until our fortunes improved. However, there was one condition: once I bore him heirs he would be allowed to take Beauté as his favourite. I was too _proud_ to take that “very generous offer”. In fact, upon hearing it, I broke the engagement quite vehemently.

My family was never informed as to why I had ended the betrothal. I especially did not tell Beauté. What good would it have done?

This led to all sorts of trouble as betrothals are contracts in their own right. My now-former fiancé petitioned the law to invalidate the betrothal on the grounds that my father could no longer meet the financial stipulations of the agreement. I could have endeavoured to petition the law on the grounds of evidence of (planned) adultery, but it would have dragged the youngest into our dispute. She did not need this scrutiny and actual adultery had not yet occurred. The legal system agreed with him, as did the church authorities, and my engagement was soon terminated.

Breaking the engagement also led to a minor scandal. However, after a brief ado amongst the upper class, it was quickly forgotten. Within a few weeks, the gossip and attention had shifted. To them, there is nothing more entertaining than the drama and spectacle of another’s indignity. It was better than a night at the theatre.

However, my reputation did not come out of it unscathed. As we had been so close to the wedding, they assumed that we had _dallied_. A man’s character is never harmed by such accusations, even proven ones. A woman’s repute, however, can be forever ruined by unsubstantiated slander.

Except Beauté, who was too young to entertain suitors, my other sisters were soon unattached as well. As they were not officially betrothed, it was easier to end the engagements. Our other admirers also dispersed like smoke.

Only Mignonne, who was not yet eighteen, was not spurned outright by her suitor. However, he had relinquished his offer of the position of wife and instead offered her the position of mistress. She too denied him. My family found out about that offer; my father had to keep his sons from doing something _impulsive_. The last thing we needed was legal issues and fees on top of everything else.

My school-bound siblings had to be pulled from their educations as we could no longer afford the cost. This was especially frustrating as Jour had only a year left before completion. My father had hoped that at least some of his sons would receive a university education but this seemed unlikely.

None of the servants remained with us either. I cannot fault them for this as we could no longer afford their wages. The only kindnesses we received were from those who had little money and no power or influence. Regrettably, it was not enough to keep us from tumbling into poverty.

We sold most everything we had left, including the city property, just to settle our debts and replace the necessities we had lost. Mélodie had a lapdog; it slept upon her bed and was the only thing she saved while fleeing the flames. It was still young and a pure-bred so it was sold too. My sister was distraught especially after losing all her instruments to the fire. We also sold almost all but one of the horses to Faune’s despair.

Just as my family was about to leave our hometown, I had a chance encounter with a local gossip. All that conversation accomplished was to twist the knife regarding my failed relationship. She thought, for some reason, that I desperately needed to know that my former fiancé was already engaged to another woman. He married her by mid-summer.

Later, I would learn that he was constantly unfaithful to his poor wife. This did not harm his reputation or status either. His first extramarital assignation was a mere eight days following the wedding. He was perpetually engaged in affairs and had a succession of mistresses. This would be his downfall. By the time my family had regained our status, about three years later, he was already dead. The husband of his most recent mistress had fatally stabbed him during a duel.

Good riddance.

A few weeks following the fire, we left our hometown for the country estate. The last time we visited was the summer before my mother’s death. My father’s proposal was to turn it into a farm. He had never tended to a plant in his life. Nor had any of his recent ancestors been farmers as he came from a long line of tradesmen. We did as he bid, though I will admit we were not exactly enthusiastic.

Other than the daughters, Jour was the most ill at ease with the change. For seventeen years, he had been realised to inherit our father’s business and become a merchant himself. Now the only thing to inherit was a farm that he had no experience or education to manage.

Some of you are probably wondering: “If it was so horrible, why did you stay?”

Where else would I go? I had no money and few marketable skills, at least outside of the marriage-market. My education was limited which limited my choices and my ability to pursue most forms of employment. How would I feed and shelter myself? Staying with my family meant I could at least rely on the safety my father and brothers provided. Women without male relations are considered easy targets for unscrupulous men.

Along with the remaining horse, we had a pair of mules, a milking cow and numerous hens. I will concede we were not starting from scratch. Our clothing was new as we had to replace it after the fire. It was also both warm and well-made. In better times, after the daughters had awoken, we would be dressed in silk bedgowns for our leisurely morning routine. Following that, we would change into our day gowns. Now, our only outfits were sturdy, wool bedgowns and jupons4 with little decoration.

The house was significantly smaller than the townhouse, but it was sturdy even with fourteen years of neglect. The estate included part of the vast forests that surrounded us. Deer and rabbits were plentiful. For the first time, my brothers were expected to hunt for sustenance and not bragging rights.

The peasant woman, who my youngest sister was left in the care of twelve years prior, had a number of adult children. One of her sons, a farmer, and his family took pity on us and loaned us some expertise. The farmer taught us how and when to sow and how to tend to our crops and livestock. His wife gave my sisters and I lessons on how to cook and clean as well as do textile work and the prices of things. While I knew the value of a gem or a bolt of fine cloth, I had no clue the price of an egg or a loaf of bread.

If it had not been for them, we probably would have starved.

We were then left to our own devices. It was fortunately still planting season when we arrived and the estate already had an established orchard. Its ornamental gardens were torn out and turned into vegetable and herb plots. The parks became fields, pastures and vineyards. Flore and Terreau had the most experience, and fewest complaints, regarding working the land.

I, on the other hand, hated every moment of it.

From waking up at the crack of dawn to collapsing in bed after sundown, it was tedious toil. Chickens are foul, vicious creatures particularly when you are trying to collect their eggs. Collecting eggs has to be done twice a day in the spring and fall and thrice a day in the summer and winter. The cow has to be milked at least twice, often thrice a day. It is not nearly as pleasant as theatrical portrayals of milkmaids make it seem.

In fact the entire genre of pastoral art and literature is highly idealized. It manages to forget that living off the land requires heavy labour.

We scrubbed until our hands were raw: clothes, floors, cookware and vegetables. When our chores were done, there was still no rest. We weaved and sewed and spun until our eyes blurred. I confess we did grumble about our reduced circumstances. It was difficult and we were unskilled.

At first, even Beauté was miserable. Soon enough though, to our father’s joy, she dutifully and cheerfully went about her tasks. As always, everything seemed to come easily to her. I believe that she coped better than us because she was the only daughter not nursing a broken heart. She was an easy target and bitter comments were made that none of us really meant.

My brothers fed the livestock and cleaned their stalls. They also chopped wood and tended to the fields and orchards. The daughters split up the household chores and tended to the kitchen garden, which became primarily Flore’s domain. I became quite good at kneading dough; it is a wonderful way to work off aggression.

Beauté had always been fond of animals. After a few weeks, she was the primary milker and egg-collector. Judge me if you will but the cow produced significantly more under her ministrations. Even the hens, who defer to neither God nor man, improved their disposition and their yield.

The livestock were not the only animals who found her appealing. Otherwise timid faunae would approach her without fear. Birds would join her in song and land upon her hands and shoulders. Even the rare predators were soothed in her presence. In hindsight, this is not normal behaviour for wildlife. How would we know? Growing up in the city, the only animals we encountered were well-accustomed to human presence.

I have been accused of embellishing the truth. My naysayers claim that it was less unpleasant than I claim and my acrimony is purely because I was bereft of pretty adornments. They never realize that it was never just luxuries. Spices were also unaffordable, leaving our meals bland. There are those that, upon hearing our tale, have afterwards claimed that they could have easily forgone all extravagances. It is amusing to then see them instantly balk at the idea of relinquishing cinnamon and black pepper.

As for those who find the idea of country living to be bucolic, you are welcome to have it.

My only enjoyment was escaping to the village. Never empty-handed though, as we had excess eggs and milk to sell and a drop spindle can be brought anywhere. Who accompanied me varied day-to-day. Usually I brought along one of my sisters for reasons that will soon become evident. My father never escorted me. As he only rarely visited the settlement, the villagers knew me far better than they knew him.

I had, on a few occasions, brought along one of my brothers. However, they tended to _wander_.

The first time that happened, it was Jour who strayed. I found him, mid-act, in a compromising position with a local minx. Immediately, I dragged him home while he complained the entire way. We could not afford more mouths to feed. He was not the only one of my brothers to get into that situation, but he was the only one I caught.

Noir was discovered at the inn, gambling with money we did not have. They got him into a few friendly rounds and he thought he could win that money back. He failed. I found him, fortunately before he had gone into debt. Unfortunately, it was after he had lost all the money he had on him. Those coins were meant to purchase provisions.

Agneau was also found in the inn, drinking to someone else’s health with money we did not have. It was not entirely his fault; they had invited him in to celebrate a local family’s milestone. They plied him with a few drinks and got him drunk. Then they _suggested_ that the next round was on him.

I bargained with the innkeeper to create a tab instead of demanding immediate payment. In exchange for gradually clearing my brother’s account, we would sell the inn eggs and milk at half-price. I swear the innkeeper was charging interest on said account. It should have not have taken as long as it did to pay it off even with the mark-up on liquor.

During a holiday, the triplets ended up in a brawl with some rough youths. Alcohol had been flowing freely and the youths had taunted our family for being penniless city-folk with airs. Feu took particular offense to that, ignoring Zéphir’s reasoning that getting into a fight would be a terrible idea. As always, Terreau went along with whatever Feu did and Zéphir ended up joining in because the other two were outnumbered and losing.

Law enforcement gave them a reduced fine and, in exchange, my youngest brothers were not to return to the village for a year. This required me to convince the priest to visit our home each Sabbath. He did though and performed a private mass in exchange for an invitation to our Sunday dinners.

As for Beauté, the villagers had taken one look at her and nicknamed her, obviously, ‘the little Beauty’. They adored her lively disposition and sweet temperament. I never was sweet-natured the way she was; I was always too sharp and too cynical.

She had never been formally introduced to high society the way I and our other sisters had been. Too often I had overheard or witnessed upper class men use, misuse and abuse naïfs before disregarding them the instant these men grew bored. Did I warn these _ingénues_ 5 that these men had ill-intensions? When I could, of course. But my advice was frequently rejected with the declaration: “But he loves me!”

In hindsight, thank heavens Beauté was never formally introduced to high society.

The records state that it was the villagers’ intelligence that made them eager to give Beauté preference. If those villagers had been less _intelligent_ but more empathetic, they would have realized my other sisters and I were miserable because we were still traumatized. With the first impressions made, nothing would change them. We were envious of the kinder treatment Beauté received, I will confess, but we never truly hated her. I love my sister but, sometimes, I resented her too.

My other sisters and I received crass comments and lewder suggestions from rough, rustic men. When we paid no heed to them, they called us haughty, frigid and worse. They held their tongues when Beauté was present. Deep down, I know those remarks were still contemplated even if not verbalized. It was easy to see in their lecherous looks and vulgar gestures. I would, and will always, protect her including from lusty men with wandering eyes and roving hands.

There were a few incidents where this protection became necessary.

The first was when a swain, with more insolence than intellect, tried to persuade her into a little stroll in a secluded glade. As it turns out, it is not just upper class men who will take advantage of innocents. He had told her there were some pretty flowers there, ready to be picked. She believed him. I am not so naïve; they only thing he was planning to pluck would have been her. He was very lucky that I was the one to intervene, not a moment too soon, and not one of my brothers or my father.

The second was when a local girl noticed her soon-to-be ex-beau blatantly eyeing my sister. This started a furious lover’s quarrel in the middle of the road. After their relationship had quite publicly ended, I then had to fend off a woman on a warpath _and_ the lovesick fool of a former paramour.

It was less difficult than you might imagine.

First I slapped _him_ , hard, before calling him an absolute cad. Then I loudly berated him for treating his beloved so boorishly by crudely ogling my chaste sister. My sister had done nothing to indicate any attraction, I pointed out, or even hint that she would welcome his attentions. After I had finished with him, I found that the woman’s anger had cooled slightly. So, I begged her pardon for any offence done and offered my condolences regarding her capricious escort. My sister did likewise and we were able to continue on without incident.

The third was when a few of the youths were competing to gain her attention. How it started I do not know, but it erupted into another brawl. Property damage ensued. We lost a day’s wages when our handcart of milk and eggs ended up overturned.

After that, Beauté stopped coming to town with me. I did not impose this on her; she suggested it herself. I think she preferred being in the meadows anyway. On numerous occasions, she returned home adorned in handmade floral crowns.

Our milk and eggs kept us fed until the crops came in. One of our customers was the baker, who gave us first pick of day-olds along with our payment. Another was the dairy who paid us in cheese and butter and later, as we improved our butter-making skills, just cheese.

We also sold to the mayor’s house. In better times, we could have visited as honoured guests of him and his wife. We would have entered the house through the grand front doors and been entertained in his salon or music room. The finest foods would have been offered to sate ourselves. Instead, I and one of my siblings were stuck waiting at the service entry near the kitchens and dealing with the servants.

I began to believe the old fortune-teller’s prophecy. Beauté did save our lives during the fire. Our best chance at regaining our honour and our wealth, she was the only one I could see married off without a dowry. The youngest had indeed become a beauty and the villagers had nicknamed her such. But, being beautiful can also be dangerous.

My sisters agreed with me; we had to find her a worthy husband.

The first idea we discarded was having her work as a shepherdess. It was a job that would leave her in isolated areas, alone except for her sheep. Any man who came across her, especially a powerful one, might take advantage of the lack of witnesses. The second idea was finding her employment in a noble household as a ladies’ maid or companion. It was discarded for the same reason as the first. We could not guarantee her safety. Even if her employer was an unmarried or widowed woman, she may still have male relatives and guests.

Our best option was to present Beauté at the royal court. There would be a number of available men there and men with available sons or other relations. The Queen herself had a son, only five years older than Beauté, but even I thought that would be too ambitious. Also, she kept him quite sheltered while the war continued. However, a knight, baron or other low-level lord was quite doable.

We could not introduce her to high-ranking men the same way we had been. There were no longer invitations to balls for us. Even if we did receive an invitation, they would take one look at our simple garb and send us away in disgrace. Unless it was a masquerade ball, no one would attend looking like a peasant. Even at a masque, the country-dweller costume would be an artistic facsimile made with fabrics actual peasants could never afford.

A gentleman or noble would have been best. Perhaps we were reaching above our station. However, when my father was prosperous, he was frequently wealthier than many aristocrats. Those that gain their wealth through land and not trade often have smaller incomes but these incomes are steadier.

Beauté knew of our intentions. We did not keep them secret. If she given us any indication that she had no desire to do this, we would have thought of something else. But the docile damsel simply and silently submitted to our schemes.

I had stepped up after our misfortune to teach her, to the best of my ability, the lessons my other sisters had received in etiquette, deportment and similar. To introduce her, all we needed was a little money. She could not attend alone so I would have to go as a chaperone. We would require a male escort so either my father or eldest brother would have to come along as well.

Then we would require a benefactor, someone already in the court to present us. It would not be too difficult to find a widowed dowager (or the maiden aunt of a noble) who was living in genteel poverty. The money was to outfit us as would be befitting, to persuade our benefactor, to hire transportation and perhaps a maid.

As to where to earn the money, it quickly became apparent. The village was isolated and lacked decorative items. While my sisters had to be recently taught some textile work, lace-making and embroidery had always been permissible past times for young ladies. We also had a discerning eye for quality.

One day, I was delivering eggs and milk to the mayor’s house. Along with those, I slipped a handkerchief and a good coin to a maid that I knew could be trusted. The handkerchief was good linen with a delicate lace border and careful floral embroidery. I later ‘ran into’ the mayor’s wife who was out visiting. Feigning grief, I told her about losing my best handkerchief that morning and asked if she had seen it.

Upon returning home, she asked her staff and the maid brought it to her. Once she saw the painstaking work, she summoned me to ask if I was the one to decorate it. I told her, truthfully, that my sisters were far more skilled than I was. They had already known of my intentions so my sisters were delighted when I returned with an undecorated linen handkerchief belonging to the mayor’s wife.

We decorated the handkerchief to her specifications and returned it. She had been charmed with our work. We were commissioned us to decorate more handkerchiefs (including fancy silk ones) as well as make lace for her outfits. Word spread and we began getting orders from other women in the village.

Most of my sisters and I, including Beauté, contributed to our enterprise. Faune took on more chores so we could focus on our textile work. The less than appealing alternative (for her) was sitting still for prolonged periods of time and preforming repetitive and fussy handiwork. Every penny made went into buying supplies for this endeavour or was carefully saved.

The three eldest of my brothers also found ways to earn livelihoods in the village. Jour used his training to his advantage and gained a job in the village’s only shop. Noir became a night watchman. Agneau worked under the priest as a clerk. After the first unfortunate instances, all three managed to stay on the straight and narrow. With the three eldest sons in town, the triplets spent more time in the fields and Faune took more of a role in feeding and maintaining the livestock.

I feared that we would go on this way for the rest of our lives but Fate is a fickle thing, capable of both countless tragedies and abundant rewards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 bedgown (also known as a shortgown): article of women's clothing for the upper body, usually thigh-length and wrapping or tying in front. Jupon (also known as a jupe): a long skirt or a top-layer petticoat.
> 
> 5 ingénue: a naïve and wholesome girl or young woman


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: reference to war, references to consensual sex, reference to animals mating, reference to adultery

One of the best days of my life was when a magnificent man arrived with magnificent news.

I was twenty-three.

However, I am getting a little ahead of myself.

The second spring we were in the country, my father thought we should expand the farm. He wanted to buy more acreage and livestock. I suggested we breed the animals we already had. He agreed, in regards to the livestock, but still made inquiries about acreage.

Being raised as a well-bred lady had left me with some embarrassing gaps in my knowledge. I visited the farmer’s wife one day to find out how one would tell if any of our eggs contained chicks. Her eldest son overheard me and asked after our rooster. I replied that we did not have a rooster as “they do not lay eggs”. He found that remarkably comical. His mother sat me down and explained a few things. I knew people required both a mother and a father but hens laid eggs regardless.

It was agreed that they would lend me one of their roosters in exchange for some of the chicks. A few days later, when the weather was pleasant, the son brought it by. We had separated a few of the hens from the rest in a little enclosure. The farmer’s son deposited the rooster into the enclosure and it began to strut around.

I learned a few things that day.

The first thing I discovered was that chickens are not ashamed of having an audience. I inquired on how we would know when the rooster found the hen he fancied. The farmer’s son told me we would be able to tell. The rooster began to circle and present to a hen; it reminded very much of dancers at a ball. Then, with barely any preamble, the rooster mounted the hen.

I cried out in shock, “Oh good heavens!” That had certainly never happened at any ball I attended. There had been trysts, of course, but the participants involved always found a secluded corner. The farmer’s son seemed to enjoy my discomfort. I shepherded all of my siblings away except Jour for obvious reasons.

The second thing I discovered was that chickens have no concept of exclusivity. And not in the way that young women are told that their husbands will take mistresses and they should look the other way so long as he is discreet. The rooster finished with the first hen and, after a bit, proceeded to do the same with another. The first hen did not even look away from the grain she was pecking at. After that, I went inside the house.

The third thing I realized was that my sisters and I were not that different from the hens. Society may have prettied it up with courtships and talks of love. In the end though, our only value was the ability to produce offspring, preferably sons, for our husbands’ families.

Three weeks later, the chicks were successfully hatched. With this accomplishment, my brothers had the notion to breed the cow as well. As it produced milk, it had already calved once. Breeding the cow would have affected the milk production and I disliked the idea of losing that steady income. Following the incident with the chickens, I immediately refused to have anything to do with said endeavour. It ended up falling through anyway.

As for my sisters and I, we became accustomed to life in the countryside. The triplets were allowed to visit the village again and we made sure to keep them well-behaved. While we were never proficient at our chores, we did improve. This gave us more time to focus on our embroidery and lace-making. We had managed to accumulate a tidy sum.

There was a strange occurrence that spring.

The village was only a few leagues off from one of the deceased king’s other residences, a hunting lodge. Just after planting season, a large group of people (including soldiers) passed through the village. At first this caused a bit of a fuss until we realized that they were our soldiers. Various members of the group stopped in town while the rest continued onward. The few that remained purchased supplies and interacted with the mayor.

Jour was working at the shop that day. He recognized the livery and realized that it was a royal entourage. The village never received much news and when we did it was quite old. Rumours spread like wildfire through the settlement. Apparently, there had been a battle recently. Our military nearly suffered a crushing defeat until the hidden Prince had joined his queen-mother upon the battlefield and proved himself a warrior.

Upon hearing the news, I seized that chance. It would be much easier to visit the nearby residence then travel all the way to the Capital. We formulated a plan. My sisters and I would dress in our Sunday’s best and pay a visit, bringing along gifts of lace and embroidered cloth. We had no designs on the prince. Our only hope was to impress the Queen with our loyalty and, perhaps, accompany the entourage to the royal court.

I understand if you doubt our chances of influencing the monarchy. After all, we were merely impoverished members of the third estate. However, the king of _Île Heureuse_ 6 is our queen’s brother. Fifteen or so years prior to this occasion, he had married and elevated to queenhood a woman that (he and the rest of us had thought) was only a simple shepherdess.

This plan ended up being all for naught.

That very evening, as we would later learn, the prince would be metamorphosed into his beastly form. We had intended to depart the next morning. But, by the time we awoke, why we were setting out seemed to have fled our minds. There were vague recollections of our monarchs being nearby but we had forgotten in what capacity. We could not even remember that the late king’s residence existed, let alone in which direction and that it was nearby. It was not just us either; the whole village had been affected.

In hindsight, we had all been enchanted. Fortunately, the fairy that did so only wiped our memories. She had not reduced us to statuary unlike those poor souls within the residence’s grounds. Afterwards, I had the pleasure of conversing with more than a few of them. They seem to have suffered no ill effects but, honestly, she could have wiped their memories as well.

Our rustic existence continued on as usual though I was mildly plagued by a sense of missed opportunity.

That mid-summer everything changed.

It had been evening though the sun was nowhere near setting. We had just finished dinner and I was fetching water for dish-washing. An informant, upon a horse soaked from exertion, suddenly arrived at our estate. Though only the herald, he galloped out of the woods like a knight in a fairy tale. The horse had barely come to a stop before he leapt off of it. Grabbing the reins to hand-walk the horse, he approached me. As he drew closer, I recognized him as Héraut, one of my father’s former employees.

I called for my father, who quickly exited the house. Upon seeing our visitor, he greeted him like a friend. All my siblings had followed him into the yard to see what the commotion was about. Noir took over as the hot-walker and I emptied the bucket of water into the trough. My father escorted Héraut into the house and most of my siblings went inside as well. Noir and Faune remained with the overheated horse. I filled a livestock bucket, which I left with Faune, then refilled the kitchen bucket before entering the house.

Inside, the rest of my sisters had begun to set out food and drink on the table. The evening’s washing up was forgotten. Héraut, also soaked from exertion, was in the next room and I entered with the full bucket. The water was welcomed and he mentioned his thirst. I left and quickly returned with a ewer of cool water and a cup.

In hindsight I should have knocked as, by the time I returned, he was devoid of certain articles of clothing. I got quite the eyeful of bare torso in the moments it took to deposit my items and leave. He, the shining example of gallantry, profusely apologized to me. I stood by the door afterwards to keep anyone else from walking in on him.

After he had finished his toilette, he was bid to eat his fill. Over the meal, he brought word that one of my father’s lost ships had survived. It had reached port shortly beforehand and reports were that it contained all of its cargo. More than one of us shrieked in delight upon hearing this news. I am not ashamed to admit that I did weep with joy.

He stayed the night. Both he and the horse needed rest. Even with the late sunset, it would be dark long before he made it back to our hometown. Travelling at night, through woods or city, are equally perilous though for different reasons. I convinced my father that it would be best that Héraut spend the night in his chambers. As there were thirteen of us already, every bedchamber was already full. Indeed, my father slept on a well-stuffed pallet in his adjoining cabinet while our guest was offered the bed. As it was summer, there were plenty of bed linens and blankets that could be spared.

The reason I offered this was, at that moment, my sisters and I were so grateful that we would have done anything for him. And I do mean _anything_. I did not worry about my own self-control; however the last thing we needed was one of my sisters to visit him in the night to _express her appreciation_. Not all of them and certainly not Beauté as, when I explained my decision to my sisters, the implications sailed right over her head.

Moreover, my father felt beholden to him too. Héraut was too courteous to use that to his advantage. This was fortunate as he could have demanded anything: money, land or even one of us daughters (as a wife or just for the night) regardless of her thoughts on the matter. Given forthcoming events, I am not confident that my father would have refused him.

At the time, I felt that this was our one chance to regain it all. I was not the only one to believe that. My joy turned to anxiety when, the next morning, another informant sent word that others may take advantage of our father’s absence regarding the ship and its cargo. How much more could our false friends take from us? We may have been a little too enthusiastic about returning to the city. Héraut left soon after in an attempt to mitigate what he could.

My sisters and I did ask for clothes, several bolts of various fabrics and accessories. It was still our plan to introduce Beauté at court; with the arrival of this ship, we hoped it would be the next spring. My father was a merchant of fabrics, among other things, so sourcing them would not be an issue. We only doubted our ability to piece together the necessary attires.

If it went well, shortly after arrival at court the rest of the family would be summoned. When one is send for by royalty, one arrives as quickly as possible. One does not ask the monarch for a few weeks or so to stitch their outfits. And if they had arrived in rustic garb, we would be laughed out of the palace. It was necessary to have enough fabric and garments ready-made for when that happened.

Also, the fashions of the upper class are multi-layered and elaborate. Court dress is even more so. A gentleman can be perfectly presentable with just a silk suit. A lady is required to wear no less than a mantua7, preferably one of satin, velvet or, at the very least, silk. We also had the misfortune of being ladies at the time that panniers8 were at their widest which necessitated more fabric. And that is just the clothing. I have not even touched upon the necessary accessories, headwear, shoes, jewellery and cosmetics including hair-powder (which is more affordable than a wig).

My brothers, despite knowing of our intentions, mostly did not ask for clothing. They did ask for other items, though the original account seems to have conveniently forgotten that fact. Did you really think our father had asked only his daughters which gifts they wanted and ignored his sons completely?

For example, more than one of my brothers asked for an _épée de cour_ 9. Noir, who was was still a night watchman, requested one. In his case, there was some semblance of soundness to his solicitation. In the _highly unlikely_ event that he would have to apprehend one or more duellists in the tiny provincial village we resided in, there was some rationality for him to be armed with one.

For the rest of them, however, swords were purposeless. This particular weapon was made solely for duelling which, by the way, is _illegal_ even if the laws are sporadically enforced. Few dangerous animals can be subdued with such a slender blade. If anything, it would cause the villagers to mistrust us more and that was the last thing we needed. They already saw us as outsiders and I had worked very hard to curry favour with them.

There was a bit of miscommunication when Beauté had finally asked for a rose. We had assumed, at first, rose-coloured fabric which would have complimented her complexion marvellously. To our disbelief, it was a single rose she wanted. She did not ask for books or an instrument or even seeds to grow her own rosebushes. All she wanted was one flower, which would have sat in a vase for few days before it died. And my sisters and I are considered the frivolous ones?

At least, when my father left, it was summer and roses were numerous and cheap. He praised her for her humble request. If our desires had been so burdensome, he could have refused. He is a grown man and not a puppet, helpless to our whims. But he took our list without complaint. If you ever come across it, that fabric and those garments were to dress thirteen adults, not just five women. The records seemed to have also forgotten that along with the list, the daughters were the ones to supply him with food and other necessary provisions for his journey.

My father went alone, leaving his children behind to tend the farm and bring in the crops. It was _supposed_ to be a brief sojourn. However, it stretched out over six months. While he was dealing with unscrupulous affiliates and the civil courts in the city, we harvested and preserved. We knew, after the first letter, that he would be returning with less than we had hoped. As fall turned to winter, we sent along a parcel. It contained winter clothing and hand-knitted accessories for him and some of our lacework to sell for an income.

Winter came. The ground froze. We received one last letter from our father shortly after New Year’s. He was returning to the estate empty-handed.

Or so we thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6 Île Heureuse: Happy Island or Fortunate Island  
> 7 mantua: a loose gown popular in 17th- and 18th century France  
> 8 panniers: a type of hoopskirt  
> 9 épée de cour (also known as a smallsword or dress sword) a light one-handed thrusting sword for duelling or fencing


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Reference to a horse in a stressful but ultimately undamaging situation, reference to a death threat, reference to child-marriage, reference to slavery, references to sexual assault, reference to (18th century) sex work / trafficking, brothels and associated circumstances

The fifth worst day of my life was when my father returned with that troublesome rose and the tale of what he had to forfeit in order to acquire it.

I was nearly twenty-four.

Beauté was sixteen.

It was mid-January. Following his letter, we had expected our father to arrive on the fifteenth. However, the weather suddenly turned foul the night prior. It worsened the next morning; a sudden blizzard, accompanied by howling winds, charged over the horizon. It would end up snowing ceaselessly for nearly two days. My father did not appear. We hoped he knew of the coming storm and had remained longer in the city.

Nor did he appear the next day, though his horse did. It had arrived during dinner. We abandoned our meal in our excitement to see our father. The horse was distressed and riderless. My brothers guided it into the barn where it was dried off, warmed and fed. It devoured its fodder voraciously. We knew it was our horse. Not only did we recognize the creature, it was also still bearing much of our father’s gear.

That our father was still missing caused great distress and commotion. My brothers were anxious to set out and find him. But it was already dark and the weather was too treacherous. My brothers would have perished attempting to find him. This is not an exaggeration. The temperature was dropping rapidly and the blowing snow made it impossible to see beyond our noses. To travel safely between the house and the barn, a guide-rope was required even though both buildings provided a windbreak.

They still attempted to find him regardless. The horse had come through the orchard and the straight rows of trees led to the edge of our property. Beyond that, the forest was a twisting maze. They called out into the woods, with no answer, until they became hoarse and half-frozen.

It was a long, miserable night.

We feared that our father had been lost. We also feared what would become of us without him. I spent sleepless hours with notions how to potentially support us running through my head. Eventually, we all fell into restless slumber. The storm ceded overnight leaving behind no trail to follow the next morning. My brothers set out anyway, into the forest, in hopes that perhaps my father could be found.

While they were away, my sisters and I kept busy. Beauté was an optimist. She assembled blankets and similar warm things believing that our father would arrive home, alive but chilled. My reply was icy cynicism: “Perhaps he will return hale and whole. And perhaps he will return on the back of a magnificent steed with your rose in hand.”

Yes, it was a cruel statement. I was cold and exhausted, frightened and grief-stricken but that is no excuse. As if he had been cued, my father arrived at the house on the back of a magnificent steed. We briefly mistook him for a messenger until he entered the house and presented Beauté with her rose.

Upon seeing it, I had a bit of an outburst.

Short of magic, which I still did not believe in, the only way to acquire a living rose in mid-winter is from a hothouse. The price of a hothouse rose is _exorbitant_. My brothers soon returned as well, having heard or glimpsed the horse and rider. Soon we were gathered around the hearth. My father warmed himself and narrated his unbelievable tale.

I certainly did not believe it; the tale was too fantastical to be true.

As you may recall, I mentioned my father’s tendency to follow through with his decisions even when doing so becomes suicidal recklessness. Heading out into the wilderness during an impending blizzard, instead of staying another day in our hometown, is a solid example of this inclination. This decision led to my father becoming lost in the forest.

If not for finding the seemingly abandoned castle, surrounded by a garden of out-of-season flora, he would have perished. Honestly, I do not know why he assumed it was uninhabited. There was an occupied stable. A lit fire and cooked food was made available to him. He _assumed_ that a benevolent spirit had made it as a gift to him personally despite having done nothing to earn it. He told us exactly that, in more charitable terms, as well as his plans to move us all into said castle.

Knowing what I know now, what would have happened if we had tried?

He never considered that it might have been a place of temporary respite for lost and weary travellers. While leaving the next day, he broke one of the cardinal rules of hospitality: Never Steal From Your Host. He divulged to us that all he wanted was some roses for Beauté. I cannot rule out that he was compelled by forces beyond his control. It seems the most plausible reason as to why my father would start stealing flowers from a private garden.

That is when the Beast made his appearance. Remember, my father considers himself an enlightened intellectual. He spared no detail describing the monstrous thing. I thought it could not possibly exist. It sounded like the superstitious folklore of the uneducated. A creature conjured up by the fanciful to explain why people disappear into the woods never to be seen again. It was ridiculous.

He then told us how the Beast condemned him to death for his theft. My father begged for leniency. I am certain that, for a moment, my heart stopped upon hearing the ultimatum. The Beast agreed to release him in exchange for one of his daughters.

We had a month to comply.

A deafening silence shrouded the room. Then cacophony ensued. Arguments began over what we would do. My brothers had to be restrained to not do anything reckless. My sisters were terrified. They refused on the grounds that they were bystanders in this whole affair. Things were said that we did not mean and regretted afterwards.

I recall Mélodie crying out, “I am not about to die because _she_ wanted a flower!”

It is unjust to punish a child for their father’s crimes. I believed that my father should be the one to return to the Beast. However, I never said it. During the tumult, I said nothing at all.

Then Beauté agreed to surrender herself. For the first time in my life, I could not protect her. You are probably wondering, “Why did you not offer yourself up in her stead?” My father would have certainly been less devastated if I had.

There were a number of reasons.

I was in shock. That my father would actually use one of his children as a scapegoat was unthinkable. None of my sisters should suffer because of my father’s deeds. I certainly never thought that I would be the one sent as a hostage. Much like when my siblings went off for their education, I was still ‘too essential’ for the running of the estate. Nor did I think that my father would actually let his favourite child be a captive in his place.

Honestly, I was terrified. You would be too. A monster was threatening to tear us to pieces if we did not concede to his demands of one of us as a sacrifice. We did not know if it would keep its word. We were in the middle of nowhere and, for all we knew, it followed my father home. Tracking him would be a simple act in the fresh snowfall.

It is easy to judge when it is not _your_ neck on the chopping block.

By the time that the whirlwind of emotion subsided, it did not matter. Beauté was resolute in her decision. She stated if our father would not bring her, then she would follow him to the castle. I guess she forgot that she had eleven older and taller siblings who could restrain her for as long as necessary.

Always the optimist, she imagined, “Perhaps the dreadful fate which appears to await me conceals another as happy as this seems terrible?” My father agreed to this. With his blessing, we would not be able to keep her from doing something reckless. We had a glimmer of hope as well. What if she was right? Perhaps the Beast, like every other living thing in existence, would look upon Beauté favourably. If it was indeed a Beast, maybe she could tame it like any other creature she met.

As it turned out, it had to be her anyway. My sisters and I are not of noble, let alone royal, birth. Therefore the Prince’s mother would never have accepted one of us as his bride even if we succeeded in breaking the curse.

If I had been sent, to be honest, I probably would have figured out what was going on sooner. Beauté tended to accept what she was told and figured, “if it is important someone will tell me”. She has fortuitously matured beyond that tendency.

I always had more of an inquisitive streak. On the other hand, I probably would have done something _impulsive_ before I could solve the mystery.

After Beauté and the men in our family had gone to bed that evening, my other sisters and I gathered to discuss the whole thing. It was that or a second night of restless and futile attempts at slumber. We listened nervously as if the Beast might be creeping about our home at that very moment. The shadows seemed deeper than ever. We shivered from fear and the cold. Was that wind or the distant howls of the Beast?

Part of me was still unconvinced that it was real as it sounded like something out of a fairy tale. We were only presented these types of stories as children. After a certain age, we were expected to be _sensible_ and to no longer believe in such fanciful tales. They are impossible to avoid, however, as a number of books, theatrical productions and artworks reference, are inspired by or reimagine these tales. Of course I did not immediately think I was _in_ one. How quickly would you? Honestly, I would have preferred not being a character in a fairy tale; they rarely end well for the elder sisters.

Therefore, we looked at my father’s account with a discerning eye and applied logic to it. We concurred that there might have been a morsel of truth, made palatable by hiding it within a sugar-coated story. But what was the truth? Why would he need to take one of his daughters and claim that all that awaited her was an awful fate? And it had been a daughter, not a son, which was insisted upon.

We had theories.

Did our father find someone willing to marry one of us? But why lie, unless he was unable to pay the debts occurring from his unsuccessful journey. It would have been persuasive if another recompensed those debts and only asked for a dowerless wife instead. The husband must be awful, we conjectured. Meeting the man, after thinking she would be devoured by a monster, would seem like a fortunate turn. We imagined a perverse old man who desired a young bride. In Beauté’s case, it would be a child-bride.

Then we considered that maybe she was not going to be married off. The position of wife comes with some respectability. There would be little reason to lie if that was the case. What if the man desired a mistress instead? A beautiful, still-virginal girl would be sought-after as a courtesan. She would be healthy, pliable, trainable and so appreciative to still be alive.

Then we had the terrible thought. A mistress could expect to be kept in comfort and given gifts. What if she had been sold into slavery? If bought by an individual, she would have little recourse to their demands. As for those demands, she would be lucky if she was only treated like _Cendrillon_ 10. The threat of being thrown out into the streets would hang over her head. Nothing good would come from that.

What if she had been sold to, heaven forbid, a brothel. They would auction off her virginity for starters. Her now shorter life would be spent being used and abused. Any children she had would be illegitimate and, if daughters, could also be forced into prostitution at the same brothel. She would be exposed to venereal diseases and cruelty by clients that saw her as less than a person.

These were sobering thoughts. You are probably wondering how we could think our father capable of such cruel things. At one time, we never would have thought him capable of using one of his daughters as a monster’s meal _either_.

That rose was the subject of fierce debate as well. Was it proof that, whoever the man was, he could well afford to support us? Was it a final bit of kindness before she was thrust into a lifetime of misery?

We considered if our father was indeed telling the truth. Flore acknowledged that the rose had been plucked, not cut, which was evidence that it had not come from a florist. Would the Beast go back on his word and keep both of them? Would my father be forced to send daughter after daughter to satiate the Beast’s appetite until there was none of us less?

We discussed this so late into the night that we were nodding off in church the next morning. And thus began the worst month of my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 Cendrillon: Cinderella


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: References to (feared) violence and death, reference to (attempted) animal cruelty, reference to domestic violence ending fatally, reference to suicide, slavery, reference to financial abuse, reference to war / invasion, reference to battle injuries

The third worst day of my life was when Beauté left and I thought I would never see her again.

The last month was terrible. The month itself flew by but the individual days crawled. We were anxious and snappish. The agonizing tension left us venomous, not just to Beauté but each other as well. I interrogated my father, to see if there were any cracks in his tale, so we could figure out what to expect. The only changes were those that could be attributed to the fallibility of memory.

He never admitted anything else to us. To his credit, he did repeatedly offer Beauté the chance to not go through with this. She never wavered but the rest of my sisters and I wondered: if she did, would one of us be impelled to take her place? Compared to her, we felt expendable.

Beauté divided up her possessions, a few pretty things from our old life. I argued that she should keep them. Worst case scenario, she could sell them and use the funds to come home. She ignored me.

As they were now ours, we could do with them as we pleased. We used them to buy her a good knife to hide on her person. We doubted she could actually kill the Beast but, maybe, she could wound it and escape. She refused the knife. After she left, we did manage to sell it to another and buy back her things as mementos.

My twenty-fourth birthday resembled a grim funerary feast.

We were only impatient the last few days as we did not know what exactly the Beast meant by a month. Months vary in length. If my father had returned on the first day of the month, he and Beauté would have set out on the last day. He returned the seventeenth of January. So, was one month the sixteenth (thirty days) or the seventeenth of February? If the Beast was similar to a _loup-garou_ 11, did it perhaps mean a lunar month? A lunar month is merely twenty-eight days meaning that one ‘month’ later is only the fourteenth of February. It was not impossible, at least no more impossible than a Beast in a hidden castle.

As the Beast imposed a death sentence for the theft of a flower, we did not have high hopes regarding its clemency over a scheduling mishap. If it hunted us down and slaughtered us, no one would know for several days. Depending on the weather, it might even take a week or longer. This left us a bit on edge for obvious reasons. Starting on the thirteenth, I had horrible nightmares of teeth and claws, blood upon white fabric and whiter snow. I managed very little sleep the last few days and I know I was not the only one.

A horse arrived for her on the sixteenth. My father and brothers had the _ingenious_ idea to strangle said mount. Again, the Beast had threatened to slay my father because he plucked a single flower. What do you think it would do when it found out that he and his sons had killed an animal belonging to it? An animal that it had sent to make sure that my father kept up his end of the bargain after giving him a month to comply.

There was no way that would end well. Thankfully, we restrained them and Beauté convinced them of the futility of those actions. Never assume that because we did not attempt something foolish to save her that we loved her any less.

The record states that my sisters and I believed, for the space of a few minutes, that we were almost as afflicted as our brothers over Beauté’s departure. I will admit that I am reserved regarding displays of emotion. My sisters likewise learned to keep an even temperament, as best we could, because high society sees female emotions as weakness or hysteria. We kept brave countenances the best we could in the face of our father’s and brothers’ overwhelming grief.

As soon as she and our father were out of sight, every one of us broke down sobbing. When she left, she took all our family’s joy with her. The rose she had been gifted had, somehow, survived the entire month only to die the day after she left.

The next day, my father returned alone.

The evening he arrived, he immediately disappeared into his chamber. We feared the worst as he had answered no questions. A little later, I brought him up dinner. He was acting suspicious regarding his adjoining cabinet. That was the first hint that all was not as it seemed. I asked if Beauté was still alive when he left. He said that of course she was.

The next day, gifts were dispensed: all the things we had asked for when he first made the journey to our hometown. This was the second hint as there had not been nearly enough baggage on the horse to carry all the things he distributed. This bribery was a poor substitute for our sister. Given why we had asked for these items, that she was gone made them and our plan completely impractical.

For the first time in three years, we had pretty things again. We did not even have a chance to enjoy them. Straightaway, our father revealed that we would _never_ be allowed to see Beauté again. This confirmed to me my sisters’ worst suppositions. If she had been a bride or even a mistress, why could we not visit her? He tried to console us that it seemed to be a very gentlemanly monster.

So had Madame M_’s husband until, one night, he strangled her to death in a fit of rage.

I was not convinced of Beauté’s safety. My father had always refused to tell us exactly where the castle was. This brought us no comfort. Did I seek it out? Of course not; I am not a tracker or a woodsman nor are any of my siblings. Randomly wandering the woods, especially in the dead of winter, was a recipe for a prolonged suicide.

After we had found ourselves isolated on the farm, my father had often stated that he preferred country life to the “perfidy of false friends”. It is amusing, in a way, that the moment he was again wealthy we almost immediately quit the estate. By immediately, it was before March began. Originally, we balked at this. From our father’s tales, we conjectured that the castle was not that remote.

What if Beauté escaped the Beast and returned to find us gone?

Our estate was not going to be abandoned. It would be leased as my father found an extended family that would maintain the farm and send us fresh produce along with rent. Before the last of us left, Faune and Flore bribed the family matriarch to hold onto a letter for Beauté if she ever came back. The sealed letter explained what we could and directed her to a small box of various coins hidden on the property.

Our father, Jour and I went to the City to re-establish ourselves. Our hometown had been a moderately-sized port city. The City was further inland and the second largest and most prosperous city in our kingdom after the Capital. It had gained that distinction after the previous contender was tragically devastated by invaders near the beginning of the war. My remaining siblings stayed at the estate, packing for the all-to-certain move.

Once in the City, my father went off on an errand; he claimed that he was selling some of the jewels. Remember, I know the price of a gem. The ones he showed us were not nearly valuable enough for the amount of gold that they apparently fetched. We purchased a house and furnished it. Not just furniture either: the music room had instruments, the library had books, and the stables had horses.

To maintain the house, my father also bought slaves. I was not there when it happened. At the time, I had been arranging the purchase and delivery of linens and fabrics to our new home. After that, I had found the person who acquired Mélodie’s little dog and successfully negotiated for its return. They had it as a status symbol and were easily persuaded to sell. I know I overpaid but the look on her face at the reunion was well worth it.

I returned to my father and brother with the dog and a few necessary supplies for it. They decried my purchase as frivolous. Upon learning of their purchase of people, I decried it as immoral.

My father considered himself to be an enlightened intellectual. He, and I, studied the works of philosophers. Montesquieu was against slavery as was Rousseau. I do not know his actual reasoning, but I wonder if my father recalled the mass exodus of our servants when we lost everything. Unlike servants, slaves cannot resign their positions. Though, he did hire servants as well.

I knew he had hidden wealth. This was later confirmed by my sisters. While they were packing up my father’s rooms to join us, they found the chests. They did not recognize them and they could not open or lift them either. The shifting of metal inside confirmed my worst fears. After all, which seems more likely: that Beauté was sold or that the Beast compensated us for taking my sister as a prisoner?

Three years after we had left, my family successfully resumed our urban existence. Immediately, we began to re-introduce ourselves to society. My father made a new circle of acquaintances. My brothers returned to their educations.

Likewise, my remaining sisters and I established ourselves. This time, however, it would be on our own terms. The first time, we had tied ourselves into knots, in this case pretty bows, so that high society would consider us worthy of respect. It was a careful balancing act to never disgrace ourselves or bring scandal upon our heads. As soon as we were destitute, we found they had never respected us.

The second time, we cared less about attaining their consideration. We were very selective when it came to which invitations that we accepted, unconcerned if the host or hostess saw it as a snub. Seeing our father’s new-found wealth meant that many tried to get back into our good graces. They gave pretty lies how, _if they had known_ , they would have of course helped us.

We were distrustful of their flattering and fawning. Those that were the most treacherous we cut, sending them away in disgrace when they attempted to visit. Some of our former suitors and admirers also attempted to woo us again. There were plenty of impoverished lords who also came seeking our hands. We spurned them all as they had already shown themselves to be feckless, faithless and fixated on our funds.

Vipers and parasites, the lot of them.

However, we needed to find husbands. I was nearly old enough to be considered a Catherinette and most of my sisters were not much younger. No matter how beautiful she is, most men tend to refuse to marry any woman over twenty-five.

You are probably asking yourself: “Did you learn nothing from your time in the country?” I did, actually. I learned I am not capable of being a farmer’s wife. I also learned that my father was apparently able to sell his child to save his own neck. Remember, this is the man that controlled my dowry and that of my sisters as well.

My father agreed that we should be married off quickly. However, high society makes up only a small portion of the population. Every available gentleman in our hometown had proved himself _flighty_. Gentlemen in this and other cities might be more consistent but we would have no way to test that without another tragedy.

We knew of one steadfast man. Remember Héraut, the informant with news of my father’s ship? Despite losing an income, as my father had to sell everything, he had waited in our hometown for over two years. Upon the ship’s arrival, he had hired a horse and pushed the beast nearly to its limit so that my father would know as soon as possible. He followed us to the City as my father’s employee. His loyalty and hard work was well rewarded with a steady income.

Several months and careful investments later, he asked my father: “If she will have me, I beg permission to ask your eldest daughter for her hand.”

Even if my father had refused his blessing, I would have married him anyway. My previous fiancé had good breeding, an ample yearly salary and a disgraceful character. My now-husband had a smaller annual salary and did not belong to the upper crust. However, he did have a pleasing countenance and disposition. We had much in common and his devotion _almost_ never wavered.

Likewise, my four remaining sisters also found suitors. Not one of these men was from the upper class, but all were hard-working and educated with noble dispositions despite lacking noble titles. In our previous life, our chaperone would have disapproved of them greatly.

Mignonne always had an eye for pretty things. Bijou was a jeweller’s young apprentice. Though surrounded every day by jewellery, gems and precious metals, he considered her to be the prettiest thing in the shop and outside of it too. She likewise found him pleasing and they began courting in earnest. As he worked at the jeweller that my father supposedly sold those gems to, he was able to confirm my earlier suspicions.

Mélodie, along with Noir, rubbed shoulders with the artistic community: writers, actors, dancers and fellow musicians. Though various introductions, she met Trouvère. An aspiring poet, he was not a starving artist only because he supplemented his income tutoring. He is very charming and she was quickly smitten. I had my concerns having dealt with too many pretty men with pretty lies. But he was not charming to gain anything but because it was an ingrained facet of his personality.

The other concern I had was how was he going to support her? She has access to money, this is true, but once married her husband would have complete control over it. There is always the risk that she could end up like Madame B_ de V_ whose husband squandered her inheritance. Our laws left her with no legal recourse to stop him or end the marriage. I told her that love will not put food on the table. She retorted that hating who she marries will not guarantee financial security. I had to concede.

Flore had trouble adapting after our move. Our farm was isolated and the nearby village had only a few score of people. The City was larger than our hometown, louder and crowded with strangers. The drastic differences had left her feeling a little overwhelmed. When she left the house, she usually visited parks and gardens, especially the University’s botanical garden.

This is where she met Forêt. Of our five suitors, he was the closest to nobility. The youngest son of the youngest son of a very minor aristocrat, he did not even have a courtesy title. There are only a few available opportunities available to extra sons. For example, they can join the church or they can join the military (and hopefully their father will purchase them an officer commission). Forêt chose academia and was a curator of the botanical garden’s exotic plants. Needless to say, they took to each other immediately.

Finally, Faune was courted by a former soldier. At the time he was breeding and training horses so you can guess what they bonded over. He had a fascinating tale about why he was no longer a soldier. Originally he had resided in one of the first villages to be invaded after the former King had passed. He was fortunate that most of his family had successfully fled into the wilderness then had successfully re-established themselves in another town. When he became of age, along with some friends, relatives and a number of other men from both villages, he joined the army.

That is not the interesting part.

The only battle he attended was the one that the Prince had made an appearance. During it, he was wounded and ended up in a hospital. Though the wounds were survivable, they were severe enough that he was honourably discharged from the army. He had mentioned to us how he had lost contact with his friends and relatives that had served in the same _peloton_ 12 as him. Others from his village had inquired, through missives, if he had any news of their men who also had not contacted their families.

As there had been no battles with severe enough casualties to warrant this, it was as if they had disappeared off the face of the earth. We would later learn that the rest of his _peloton_ were among those who escorted the Queen and Prince. Thus, they were petrified to keep the secret of the Prince’s transfiguration.

Spring turned to summer and summer turned to autumn. No word came from Beauté or from the family leasing our estate regarding her. We grieved, thinking we would never see her alive again. However, one cannot grieve forever. Gradually, we moved on.

Exactly six months after we had seen her last, Beauté came home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11 loup-garou: werewolf  
> 12 peloton: platoon


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Reference to bestiality, references to sex, reference to animal cruelty, reference to injury / abuse

The most bittersweet day of my life was the day that Beauté returned.

Some rumours say she returned because our father was deathly ill. This is inaccurate. He was in as good of health as can be expected for a grieving man of his age. It was an unassuming September morning. The first taste of autumn was in the air when she returned.

We had just gathered for breakfast. Suddenly, and unexpectedly, she entered the room and embraced our father. This sudden turn of events left us temporarily paralyzed with astonishment. At first I did not recognize her. After a moment, our chairs were knocked over and violently pushed away in our haste to greet her, hold her and ascertain that she was real.

The account says that my sisters and I were vexed upon seeing her. This is accurate and our vexations can be summed up thusly: how did you get here and why did it take you _six months_ to let us know you are alive? Later we asked every servant, including the night watchman. No one could tell us how or when she had arrived. According to her, she awoke one morning in the chamber that had been set aside for her.

After breakfast, our father took her aside to speak to her privately. I listened in from the next room. Despise me for this if you must, but no one was telling me what was happening and I needed to know what to expect. Did the Beast free her? Did she escape?

Our father told her everything that he had concealed from the rest of us. As it turned out, the Beast did compensate us for taking her. He then mentioned how he was planning to marry off the rest of us daughters while she was still there so she could attend the weddings. At the time, I had no issue with marrying my fiancé immediately. It was my father who decided, after Beauté had left, that we should be in mourning for a year. Therefore, I had expected my wedding to be next spring.

On the other hand, his strange urgency to immediately marry us off wounded me. It felt as if, now that he had his favourite back, the rest of us were superfluous despite staying by his side through everything. My father’s strange proposition following did not ease my mind.

After my sisters and I were married off, he offered that they and my brothers would remain living together. He also offered that it could be just the two of them and my brothers live on their own. I am not trying to imply anything salacious. It is just that she was still only a youth and my father assumed she would remain and care for him as he aged. Even if she had not been a guest of the Beast, it is not unreasonable to think she would one day wish to marry and start a family.

It was all for naught as she told him she was visiting for just two months.

They joined us for meals. Over lunch, and throughout the afternoon, she related her life of leisure at the castle. At the time I did not know if what she was telling us was accurate or just a lovely fantasy to lessen the sorrow of parting. Some elements sounded too fantastical to be true: monkey butlers, giant windows to watch foreign theatrical performances and dreams of a romantic Adonis who was captivated by her.

After dinner, she again took our father aside to show him the chests that had accompanied her. I listened in on that too. Upon seeing the wealth within, my father encouraged her to marry the Beast. Since my youth, I always knew one of us daughters would likely end up marrying a monster; until that moment I always thought it was metaphor.

To convince her, he gave her some wise advice: “It is much better to have an amiable husband than one whose only recommendation is a handsome person. How many girls are compelled to marry rich brutes, much more brutish than the Beast, who is only one in form and not in his feelings or his actions?”

Me.

I was compelled to marry my first fiancé despite my misgivings. There were clear clues that his attractiveness was only skin-deep. Nonetheless, I do not recall my father, or anyone else, giving me this advice then. Beauté also had her misgivings about marrying the Beast, which I cannot blame her for. I had my own misgivings too, ones that young Beauté probably never considered. If she married him, what happens when her new beastly husband wanted to consummate the marriage? The Holy Book considers people ‘lying with beasts’ to be a sin. In fact, it uses that exact phrasing.

My father tried to convince her to marry the Beast well into the evening hours. I finally had to step in and send her off to bed. When she joined us for breakfast the next morning, I could tell that she had not slept well. I assumed that she had been mulling over our father’s insistence that she marry the Beast. It was over breakfast that my father resumed his persuasion. I told him, in no uncertain terms, to drop the subject.

This led to us having a thunderous quarrel following the meal.

The two of us were sequestered in a parlour but I am fairly certain at least some of my siblings and the domestics were eavesdropping. I do not know how much Beauté overheard. He stubbornly defended his choice while I, equally stubborn, laid out my rebuttal. My initial argument was she was only sixteen and thus too young to wed. I then pointed out that we knew nothing of the Beast, including age and _species_. This segued into discussing the probable wedding night. I called to his attention: if he was discomfited to hear about it, how uncomfortable she would be engaging in it?

Having been nearly married before, I knew quite a bit more about what to expect. I had adequate reason to believe that Beauté, while not completely ignorant, was uninformed regarding most details. First, there were our circumstances: she had never been introduced to society and was still at the convent-school shortly before our sojourn in the country. Second was my and my family’s tendency to shield her. She had been so young with so little chance of marriage that we had not yet informed her regarding the issue beyond the scant basics.

I then argued, if the consummation was successful, what would happen when she conceived? My youngest sister was always smaller and daintier then the rest of us. How ever would she survive _mettre au monde_ 13 the spawn of a massive monster? My father, the idealist, suggested that perhaps the Beast had no desire for _nuits partagées_ 14 and was merely looking for life-long companionship.

I replied scathingly: “You could never wait an entire year. My mother died because she did not recuperate long enough after bearing the triplets. Her blood is on _your_ hands.”

It was cruel statement but I refuse to regret making it. Despite the turn of phrase used, a woman cannot truly ‘get herself with child’ (with one Biblical exception). This mindset only helps unscrupulous men shirk their responsibilities. Everyone else gave my father their pity: “Oh you poor man, losing your wife like that.” They always ignored his hand in her passing.

I told him that I was going to fully explain _intimité_ 15 and procreation to Beauté. She deserved to know all possible outcomes before she made a decision. Without a mother or other surviving female relations, this was my duty as the eldest daughter anyway. I also declared that he had made his feelings known on the matter and he should not attempt to influence her any more. I did this because I feared she would disregard her disgust in order to obey our father. When he objected, I reminded him that he had always trusted my judgement before.

My sisters and I did inform her during her visit but could not immediately as, by the second day, word of her return had been unwillingly divulged. Our acquaintances visited with little notice, with some arriving while my father and I were still in contention. They clamoured to see our father’s “beautiful lost daughter”. None of them knew the exact reason for her disappearance, though they all speculated. I know there were more than a few there eager to marry off their sons to her. She enchanted every one of them. This included our suitors.

The account points out that this roused our jealousy. It probably meant that our _envy_ had been roused. For six months we had thought Beauté was dead. One morning, out of the blue, she just swans back into our lives like nothing happened. My father was so grateful that he was planning a future for just the two of them. My brothers lavished attention on her. But all that we were used to.

We were envious because, with one coy smile from her, our suitors completely spurned us. Not one or two, but all five of our paramours suddenly considered us chopped liver. And not the fancy pâté either. These were men that we loved and who, we thought, had loved us. The more she rejected them, the more captivated they became.

I am fairly certain that broke my heart. My suitor had met Beauté before, recall that he worked for my father. It was not that I was his second choice after her disappearance. Before the whole thing with the Beast, he only knew of her as one of my father’s numerous daughters.

That was when I realized: she was inhumanly beautiful and charming. Once again, I began to have doubts that this was indeed my sister.

The suitors’ behaviour certainly spoiled my father’s idea to immediately marry off the five of us. She was supposed to attend the weddings, not enamour the grooms. The account goes into more details of how our suitors preferred her to us, but it is too painful for me to revisit. The account also points out that, after all this had happened, my sisters and I were not so fond of her.

Can you blame us?

Our frustration did not cause us to freeze her out; we still had polite conversation. And, to her credit, she did try to persuade our suitors to stop pursuing her. She attempted this with my fiancé first. I overheard their conversation. At the time, he only had eyes for her. Afterwards, I locked myself in my chambers for the rest of the day and wept. As he had proved himself unfaithful, I nearly broke the engagement.

Her conversations with the other suitors were equally fruitless. Worse, each thought that she was turning him down in order to choose another. This caused discord as they all attempted to rival each other for her love. The relationships between Beauté and my sisters and I soured. Knowing the Beast was not the monster we had feared, we eagerly anticipated her return to the castle. The men in our family, despite the chaos and distress, begged her to stay as long as possible.

November came and she still had not departed.

One night, over two months after she had arrived, she had a frightening dream that convinced her to return. She was fretful when she awoke and for the whole morning. At lunch, she informed us that she was leaving that night. Our father was anguished. Our brothers were distraught. Our suitors were distressed that our house would be, “robbed of its brightest ornament” (you can thank Bijou for _that_ turn of phrase).

As for myself and my other sisters, I am going to quote straight from the record: ‘her sisters alone, far from appearing distressed at her departure, were loud in praise of her sense of honour; and affecting to possess the same virtue themselves, had the audacity to assure her that if they had pledged their words to the Beast as she had done, they should not have suffered his ugliness to have interfered with their feelings of duty, and that they should have long ere that time been on the road back to the marvellous palace. It was thus they endeavoured to disguise their cruel jealousy that rankled in their hearts.’

I am going to need to picture this scene. We had just sat down for lunch and Beauté has announced that she was returning to the Beast’s castle. Cue pandemonium as _twelve_ emotional men beg her to stay longer. This includes her father, who had previously urged her to marry said Beast. Her resolve starts to crumble until I speak up and _agree with her course of action_. The men are temporarily silent and my four sisters concur with me. It was her decision and the five of us were the only ones to encourage it.

I will admit we may have laid it on a little thick.

By all her accounts, the Beast had treated her well. Her complaints of his character were only that he was dull-witted and not much of a conversationalist. We had no reason, not even inkling, that he was dangerous or violent. There were no signs that abuse had been suffered, overt or otherwise. The ladies’ maids (who helped her dress and bathe) reported that there were neither wounds nor scars nor misshapenness of the limbs indicating bones that were broken and improperly healed.

He had let her visit once; it is not fallacious to think he would let her visit again. Her presence meant that none of the five planned weddings had come to fruition. Unlike the first time she left, we had no reason to believe any harm would befall her.

Lastly, the scribe is not an oracle and cannot read the contents of my heart.

There are some rumours that state that my sisters and I were at fault for detaining her. It is said that we endeavoured to keep her longer than she had planned to visit in the hopes that the Beast would become enraged and possibly devour her. In one account we conspire to get her to leave and in another we conspire to get her to stay. In both accounts, our actions are ‘evidence’ of our wickedness. Damned if we do and damned if we do not.

It is almost amusing, in an odd way, I guess.

The men, once again, thought they could prevent her journey to the Beast’s castle. They assumed a steed would convey her. I failed to remind them that Beauté had not arrived on a horse. She had appeared in her chambers and thus, it stands to reason, she would depart in the same manner. Knowing this, I did not worry that they would attempt to strangle her mount this time. I also failed to mention that the best way to keep her from leaving would to watch over her while she slept.

Beauté agreed that nothing they could do would prevent her from parting. The men stayed up all night waiting for that horse. It never arrived. My sisters and I slept peacefully. At dawn, I arose and informed them that Beauté was long gone. Her sheets were cold when I had checked them; she had disappeared sometime through the night. They finally went to bed.

My sisters and I enjoyed a blissfully peaceful breakfast. The only conversation we had of note was what we were going to do about our suitors. After all, they had treated us disrespectfully for over two months. We came to no agreement.

Our father and brothers joined us for lunch but our suitors were nowhere to be found. We assumed they had left. Following the meal, I was taking a promenade about our gardens when I came upon my fiancé by chance. I turned from away from him and left in high dudgeon.

Héraut followed and threw himself at my feet, entreating me for my forgiveness. After he kissed my hem, I allowed him to rationalise what happened. He explained that he could not understand what had come over him. It was not in his character to toss aside a paramour for another nor was it to continue pursuing a woman, especially one so much younger, after repeated rebuffs. He described the last two months feeling like a dream where he could only watch as events unfolded.

When he had awoken that day, it was as if sense had finally returned to him. Next, he stated that I had every right to be furious and send him away. He then reiterated that he still wished to wed me if I would still have him. If I refused him, he would take Holy Vows as he wanted no other woman and no longer trusted himself to be an honourable husband. He also agreed to undergo any penance I demanded for the maltreatment I had suffered.

My other sisters would likewise converse with their suitors and find similar recollections. They described it in various ways, including a form of intoxication that they had no resistance against or that their wits had simply deserted them. With the fantastic things Beauté had done and experienced, I found myself considering magic to not be impossible. All the symptoms that our suitors described sounded like an enchantment. Once again, I wondered if Beauté was completely human and if she was actually our sister.

I offered no council as to how my sisters should proceed regarding their suitors. If they continued with their relationships, it was their decision and theirs alone. In the end, we did not send them away for a number of reasons. If what they said was true then they were not in control of their own faculties at the time. Though they made complete fools vying for her attention, not one of them attempted to take liberties with Beauté. And, personally, I thought myself too old to start over a third time.

I did marry him, eventually. In these past sixteen year, these two months were the only time that his devotion had ever wavered. After Beauté had left, life eased back into normalcy for all of two days.

On the third day, we had the surprise of our lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 13 mettre au monde: euphemism for giving birth (literally: putting into the world)  
> 14 nuits partagées: shared nights (euphemism for sex)  
> 15 intimité: intimacy (euphemism for sex)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Reference to a minor (17) (canonically) marrying an adult (21ish), reference to (canonical) incest (cousin-marriage), references to death of family members, reference to corpse disposal, reference to (now outlawed) slavery

The most shocking day of my life was when my family and I were summoned to the Beast’s castle for Beauté’s wedding.

I was still twenty-four.

Beauté was actually seventeen as her birthday was in October, not in December as my youngest sister’s had been.

It was a crisp autumn day when I and my siblings had revisited the country estate to engage in a hunting party. Our five suitors also accompanied us. I was upon the horse that had been originally kept while the rest of the party were riding mounts trained by Cavalier. Suddenly, with no provocation, my steed reared before bolting through the undergrowth. It ignored every command and all I could do was hold fast lest I be thrown. I soon realized that all the other horses were likewise uncontrollable.

Soon enough, we found ourselves on an open road leading to a magnificent castle. The gates opened, unaided, to greet us. Finally the horses slowed their frantic pace but not enough that we could safely dismount. We travelled through a garden with numerous plants including rosebushes and rows of orange trees. Flore and Forêt made comments that growing oranges out-of-doors in our climate should be impossible.

I warned them all to not pick a fruit, a flower, a leaf or even a twig off any of the plants as I had realized that this was the Beast’s castle.

When we arrived at the actual building, numerous people were milling about. This included a number of men in military uniform. The horses had slowed to a walk at this point. Fortunate, as Cavalier suddenly alit from his horse upon seeing the soldiers. Reunited with his missing peloton, he joyfully greeted and embraced several of the men.

Our horses finally stopped and we dismounted. We had scarcely touched the ground when Beauté hastily exited the castle. Before she could finish embracing us, our father arrived upon another horse. It was the same one that had originally bore him and the rose which started the whole thing. Beauté threw herself into his arms. Afterwards, she escorted us inside.

The reunion was interrupted when we were joined by three women and two men, all in luxurious apparel. Even though our new wealth allowed us fine clothing, I still felt poorly-presented in comparison. One of the women was our Queen, whom I did not immediately recognize; seeing a profile embossed in metal is different than meeting the person full-face in the flesh-and-blood.

The second woman was Beauté’s maternal aunt, who was also a fairy as it turns out. She told my father, though in more flowery terms, that he is not Beauté’s father but her subject and should treat her as such. This made me furious; Héraut and Jour had to stop me from doing something rash.

Not his daughter? We raised her for fourteen years! She is as good as family, bloodline be damned.

That was the first of many revelations made that day, most of which were unpleasant. The fairy-aunt explained to us that Beauté is both a princess and half-fairy. She is the only child and heiress of the King of Île Heureuse and his fairy queen-consort. This was the third woman and the elder of the two men to whom we were introduced.

The younger of the two men was our Queen’s son. Until that very morning, when the curse was broken, the Prince had been the Beast. He was also currently engaged to Beauté. As our Queen is the sister to the King of Île Heureuse, Beauté and the Prince are related. First cousins, in fact.

Well, that is royalty for you.

The narrative states that my sisters and I felt a painful jealousy that we endeavoured to hide. Beauté always was the lucky one. Not only did she have two doting father-figures, her presumed-dead mother was also reunited with her. Of course, everything always did come easily for her. Similarly, the King of Île Heureuse had returned to him both the wife and daughter he had believed dead.

Meanwhile, my father, siblings and I never would have the same. The very same day as they reunited, my family had learned that I had been correct all these years. My baby sister, my sweet Gisèle, had perished from her illness and had been unmourned for fourteen years. And we knew that our mother was never coming back. Lastly, despite the fact that Beauté was spoken for by a literal Prince, our suitors had been once again enchanted (fortunately only briefly this time).

Is it any wonder that we were envious? It was not just envy; my sisters and I were overwhelmed by anguish as well. I love my sister and was happy that she was marrying someone she loved, though a bit younger than I would have preferred. However, I was also grieving the loss of two sisters: one that had died young and one that had never really been ours to begin with.

The narrative never mentions that these revelations destroyed our family, emotionally and almost literally. Not at first, as my father and brothers were enthralled by this tale. It was only later that they realized what it truly meant. Upon their realization, they began to weep.

Beauté entreated the royals for permission to still call us family. This was granted as well as appointments for us in her Royal Court. Later, and for several days afterward, we celebrated her and the Prince’s wedding.

After the two headed onto their honeymoon, Beauté’s aunt showed us where she buried our youngest sister. It was in the woods, with no funerary rites and in an unmarked grave like an animal. There is a beautiful memorial garden there now, open to the public, with a tasteful stone monument.

The Queen was only acting as regent until the Prince came of age. When the newly-weds returned, he ascended the throne as King. Beauté was crowned Queen under her birth name. She has matured into the role beautifully. The Queen-dowager is enjoying a peaceful retirement. The rest of us, however, threw ourselves into our offices to revitalize our war-torn kingdom.

Our neighbouring countries have decided that armistice is better for everyone rather than futile efforts to invade. We have thriving trade with Île Heureuse. There were a number of reforms; you may have seen the one I drafted that outlawed slavery within the kingdom. I have been informed that Île Heureuse will be adopting a similar decree quite soon.

After two decades, our kingdom finally saw peace, prosperity and innovation. To no one’s surprise, a well-fed and well-governed population in peacetime is a content one. We have been enjoying a cultural, artistic and literary renaissance. We managed to find a very talented artist to repaint our mother’s portrait from our father’s miniature.

The rest of us, sons and daughters alike, eventually married and were blessed with children. I have a daughter named Gisèle. If everyone wants to assume she is named for her adopted aunt that is their prerogative.

Sixteen years later, I am now forty though I can pass for twenty-five on a good day. Beauté is thirty-three and has not aged a day passed twenty-one. Likewise her royal sire looks younger now than when we met and her husband has also barely aged. My siblings and their families also are blessed with good health and long lives. My father is seventy-two, not that you would be able to tell looking at him, and still in perfect health.

This concludes my account of the historical record. The original narrative showed who I _was_ but not who I am now. I am not too proud to admit that I was a complete brat growing up. I was broken by loss and disaster. My time in the country taught me humility but not kind-heartedness. I had to learn benevolence quickly once there were actual people depending on me for survival.

We have all matured over the years. My sisters and I’s relationship with Beauté has improved greatly and not just because she is technically our sovereign. It helps that we have families of our own and are not dependent on our father for attention and affection.

You are probably wondering: “Are you satisfied now?”

I can honestly say that I am happier than I could have ever imagined.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism welcome.  
> Translations (especially into French), podfics, inspired fics and fanworks are welcome.  
> Will add additional tags if requested.  
> If anyone is interested in reading the version I am drawing from: ["Four and Twenty Fairy Tales"](https://books.google.ca/books?id=f7ABAAAAQAAJ&printsec=titlepage&redir_esc=y#v=onepage&q&f=false) (starts page 225).


End file.
